My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) Read online

  My So Called Life

  Copyright © 2015 by J.D. Hollyfield

  My So Called Life is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  My So Called Life is a registered trademark of J.D. Hollyfield.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Editor :

  Karen Dale Harris

  Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Design: IndieSage

  Cover Image from Bigstock

  Formatting:

  Champagne Formats

  Other Books by J.D. Hollyfield

  Love Not Included Series

  Life in a Rut, Love Not Included, Book 1

  Life Next Door, Book 2

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other Books

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  ONCE UPON A TIME there was a girl who wished for something better. That girl was me and I got the hell out of fairyland and grew up as fast as I could. I painted life the way I wanted my dreams portrayed and in the end I was the creator of my own destiny.

  If someone asked you what your life muse was, what would you say?

  Before we go any further, I think now’s a great time to get acquainted.

  This isn’t how I’d prefer we meet, but like they say, there’s no better time than the present. And at the present moment, I’m squatting in the bathroom, peeing out four top-shelf martinis. As I listen to my best friend, the infamous Lexi Hall, go on her typical rant about my boyfriend, I think about the night before me and why I’m blitzed beyond belief.

  And it’s because I am awesome.

  My name is Christina Daniels and you can be glad to meet me. Why, you ask? Because I just landed the biggest account of my career. I’m the executive art dealer for St. Markey Gallery in San Francisco, California. And three months ago, I signed the most prestigious artist, Alfonzo Del Ran. He, you will want to know, is the hottest impressionistic painter in the entire Western Hemisphere and his work is currently on display at my gallery. Well, not mine, but it should be. I’ve run the show for St. Markey Gallery for the past five years and all the heart and sweat I’ve poured into that job is now officially paying off.

  Two months of hard work and we have finally made it to the opening night of my show. As I attempt to tweet to the world my fabulous success, as well as fight to not fall off the toilet, I mentally sum up the bonus that is currently being deposited into my account. I imagine the numbers adding up. I’m gonna be rich, baby.

  “Fuckin’ shit. I’m hammered.”

  Yep, that’s Lexi again. As I said, my bestie.

  She’s in the same boat as I am. She’s the associate gallery dealer at St. Markey and my sidekick. I met her shortly after I moved to California six years ago, and the moment we laid eyes on each other, we fell in friendship love. Now she’s also indulging in the celebration of my success and we’re both in danger of falling face first onto the bathroom floor if we don’t sober up a tad.

  “I mean who has a flippin’ bidet in their bathroom?” I hear her slur through the wall divider.

  Brent does, of course.

  Oh, yeah. Brent, he’s my boyfriend. You’ll get to meet him in a few.

  “Shit, that kinda feels good,” Lexi mutters while the flush/squirt button goes off yet again.

  “Lexi, I’m not sure you’re using it the right way. It’s a box cleaner not an orgasm dispenser.” I hear another muffled moan, partial giggle, and yet another press of the button. “And also, I’m pretty sure that’s not why Brent has it in here.”

  “Geez, Christina. Way to kill the mood.” She groans and I hear the flushing stop. “If we’re going to continue being friends, like ever, you will never mention BTD while I’m taking advantage of this multi-use vag-spritzer.”

  At that I laugh.

  Just before my phone battery dies, I post my drunken tweet about being ‘the art hustler,’ wipe and flush. A task I thought would never end, because it’s time to continue celebrating.

  I AM STANDING TALL, swaying in my $1,200 silver Manolo Blahniks, because, yes, I can afford them, staring out of one eye at the crowd of people who are here celebrating my success. My normally out of control auburn hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, with my smoky eye makeup highlighting my baby blues. Always wearing green, my favorite color, I’m sporting a dress that of course fits like a glove.

  The party—in full swing—is being thrown for me by Brent, my possibly soon-to-be fiancé. I say soon to be because I know he plans to propose to me tonight. I say possibly because a huge part of me doesn’t want to say yes.

  “Oh, Christina, I was just so blown away by the Del Ran show. I must say, Cornelius really has struck gold with you.” This is from Reagan St. Martin. She’s an associate art dealer who does part-time work for a competing art gallery in Sonoma. She wants my job, but will never have it. She simply doesn’t have what it takes to be me.

  “Oh, do stop, Reagan. It’s only a job. But yes, I do agree it’s a blessing that Cornelius has me. I can’t imagine where the gallery would be without me bringing in so many of these high-profile artists.” And I say that with self-confidence, because it’s true. If there is anything I do not doubt, it is my drive for what I do. Grow up struggling for everything it allows you to build early hustling skills to fight for everything. One being my stellar success.

  Bored with my current conversation, I pull my eyes away from Reagan. She’ll soon get the hint our conversation is over and move on.

  The party is at Brent’s lavish penthouse condo. I guess I should say ‘our’ lavish condo since I just recently moved in. An investment broker and the son of a rich banker, Brent makes a lot of money, and like me, he wants people to know it. The condo takes up the entire top floor, with all the electronic co
nveniences and latest technology imaginable. My shoes cost nothing in comparison to the mortgage, but the price is mere pennies to him. It’s even equipped with a live-in housekeeper/cook. Yep, I hit the jackpot.

  Of course, it’s not all about the money. Brent Dickson is a financial wet dream, but he also looks like those underwear models you see in ads. Lean with toned muscles lining his body. A face you could find on a magazine cover. Perfectly styled blond hair, not a single strand out of place. Sometimes I’m not sure which of us spends more time on vanity.

  My blurred search of our guests stops as my eyes land on Brent. He’s in the middle of a story with a crowd of worshipping fans surrounding him. I watch as the group of young women, most likely interns at his firm drool over every word that leaves his mouth. One girl leans closer to him and giggles shrilly when he gets to the punch line of what has to be one of his really lame jokes. I know the routine. It’s always the same. These groups of vultures always try and throw themselves at my boyfriend. I’ve made comments in the past about how it bothers me, and his response is always the same, “It’s just business, babe, and they know I’m taken.” The jury is still out on that one.

  I shift my weight from one leg to the other while I wipe my now sweaty palms on my dress. I watch as Brent’s hand shifts something around in his pocket. Most likely my newest hand attire. The woman on his left places her petite hand on his shoulder and laughs at whatever Brent has just said. If I wasn’t so unsure about our relationship, or this drunk, I might care and go snap her pretty little manicured nails off.

  “Man, do you see those sluts pawing at BTD?” Lexi makes her way back to my side and hands me my martini refill. BTD is her nickname for Brent, also known as Brent the Dick. If that nickname doesn’t say it, then I will: Lexi is not Brent’s biggest fan.

  “Oh, let them. I enjoy watching them squirm, right up until the part where Brent lets them down and points my way.” I swig my luscious martini. “It’s quite thrilling to watch them pout and slink away with their tails between their legs.” I shrug as if I’m indifferent. I don’t particularly enjoy this part of our lives, but I also know better than to reveal any weakness.

  We both turn back to Brent who is barely fighting off an art buyer who just spent six figures at my recent show.

  “So, do you think he’s going to do it tonight?”

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “You know, pop the big question.”

  As I analyze Brent, he finally breaks away, locking eyes with me, and winks. I know he has plans to propose tonight. I unfortunately heard him ordering an extra case of champagne, already assuming my answer will be yes. But why would he think otherwise? I can’t say I’ve ever given any indication I was not down for this plan. We do make the perfect match. Both successful, high in elite circles, and of course, both beautiful. Unfortunately, that’s just not enough for me.

  Brent and I have been dating officially for the past three years. He attended one of my first art showings at St. Markey and ended up buying one of my first pieces just to get in my pants. It took a few years to actually make us official, due to the barricade around my heart, but since I am human, I eventually allowed him into my bed. I wasn’t looking for anything too emotional, and Brent, well, Brent was far from the romantic type, therefore our relationship worked. Throughout the years, our lives just blended together. In the end, becoming the future Mrs. Dickson and uniting a pretty huge power couple just seemed like the next step.

  Snooty? Yes. Truth? Definitely yes.

  I just wish there was more love in the equation. That’s something I hope will grow with time. I mean, not everyone gets their fairytale ending, right?

  Lexi breaks into my thoughts. “Are you sure this is what you want? I mean you will forever have the word dick in your name.”

  “Lexi,” I warn her, part seriously and part fighting the grin forming on my face.

  “Just saying. Brent ‘the dick’ Dickson doesn’t deserve you.”

  He probably doesn’t, but it might be too late to back out of this one.

  The room around us goes mute as Brent begins to address our guests. “Everyone, I would like to have your attention please . . .”

  Ugh. I mentally groan.

  And here we go.

  Showtime.

  I watch Brent raise his glass as everyone in the room quietens. He signals for me to come to his side, which I do elegantly. I make it into his arms and he squeezes me into his side and kisses my temple.

  “Everyone, thank you for coming tonight. I would like to start off by giving this beautiful woman standing next to me a round of applause for the start of her amazing show tonight.”

  With that, everyone claps and cheers.

  As the sounds begin to dim, Brent continues, “Tonight, my friends, is not only a night to celebrate her success, it is to celebrate this lucky lady becoming the future Mrs. Dickson!”

  With that, everyone in the room erupts with howls and cheers.

  Except for me, of course. My composure slips a smidge as my mouth drops open in shock. Did I just miss something? You know, the part of the speech where he actually asks if I want to become the future Mrs. Dickson. I barely have time to acknowledge the part where I blacked out before Brent is turning me to face him and slipping a gigantic, shiny diamond onto my ring finger.

  I look away from the ring at Brent and before I’m able to spit out a what the fuck, he smiles, kisses me, and then pulls away just as fast. “Love you, babe.” Grabbing my hand, he thrusts it in the air to show our guests.

  So I guess we are engaged. And apparently, I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to say since I didn’t get an option. I want to feel around my head for the lump I got when I blacked out and hit the floor, missing his whole proposal speech, but I don’t get the opportunity because people bombard us with congratulations. Men are patting Brent on the back while the women are grabbing at my hand to see the ring.

  I put on my fake smile, trying to get a handle on the situation. As genuinely excited as some of these ladies seem, I think a few are actually trying to pry the ring off my finger. I finally excuse myself to step away from the mauling crowd and walk toward Lexi, who looks like she’s still trying to compose herself.

  “What the shit!” is the first thing that spills from her mouth. “I know I’ve been taking advantage of your top shelf, but did I miss something there?”

  “I think I missed the same thing you did,” I admit, shaking my head and hoping to rattle some confusion from my brain.

  “Um, honey. I hate to break it to you, but I can’t say that that was the most poetic proposal I’ve ever seen.”

  “Me, neither,” I mumble under my breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s okay. I mean. We’ve talked about it.” Not really. “So it’s not a big deal.” Being told you’re engaged kind of is. “It’s not like we didn’t know this was the next move for us.” Except I think I was going to say no.

  Lexi stares me down, trying to diagnose my not-so-confident response.

  “Are you sure, honey? You look a little off. Kind of like you didn’t expect that to happen. Like that.”

  Well, let’s be honest. Most girls would prefer being asked to become someone’s wife. I know things are a bit different in the world of the elite, but some things just don’t change. And I would assume an old-fashioned proposal would be one of them. I should be happy. I am happy. I will learn to enjoy my life. Things are going to get better from here. My past left a hole in my heart, but I will love him. I want to love him. A bright, rich future with Brent. I turn back to where I left Brent and once again he’s surrounded by his group of pawing cats.

  “Well then, I guess it’s time to officially celebrate.” Lexi snags two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and hands me a bubbling flute.

  “So congrats, future Mrs. Dickson. Let the wedding planning begin.”

  We clink glasses and both waste no time in throwing down th
e glass of two-hundred dollar champagne.

  It’s a shame the lavish champagne tastes about as dull as my excitement for my future.

  AS THE STAFF USHERS the last guest out, Brent drunkenly swoops me up from behind and carries me into the bedroom. Before I can protest, he tosses me on the bed and wastes no time in pulling my emerald green silk dress off my body. “God, you’re so fucking hot. I’m going to fuck you good, babe.”

  Lexi’s version of celebrating did not disappoint and I’m a wee bit, shall we say, intoxicated. There’s nothing like overindulging in martinis and a little joint to top off the party.

  I’m practically seeing double of Brent right now and wanted to pass on this part of my night. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good hanky panky under the sheets but after what happened tonight, my second thoughts on this whole life plan are in full swing. If I was able to actually give him my answer, maybe I wouldn’t feel so unsettled. I mean, that way I would have sealed the deal myself. But instead I was told how it was going down. That just doesn’t sit well with me. Like, at all.

  Brent’s teeth grazing my nipple confirms I might be in for the long haul. “Well, then let’s get to it,” I sigh.

  I watch his playboy smile spread across his face as he gets to it.

  Making his way down my stomach, he doesn’t need to waste any time removing my panties because I’m not wearing any. He lowers his greedy mouth to my mound and goes to town, licking, biting and devouring my sensitive bud until I’m about to scream. But when I say scream, I mean in annoyance because he’s treating this sexual act more like a pie-eating contest. He can use a bit of a tonguing lesson, says my clit, but that’s an argument for another time. I’m about to pull a chunk of his hair out so he’ll release my lip when thankfully, he pulls away and starts to unzip his pants.

  “You ready for me, babe?” he grunts.

  “Always,” I lie in return, at which he grins widely. He rips his shirt clear off and pulls his silk suit pants down to reveal his very hard erection. He gives me one last look before he covers himself with a condom and dives into action, pushing himself inside. Immediate pleasure explodes over Brent’s creased face as he begins to move inside me.